


The Prat and The Idiot

by edenira



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merthur Party 2013, Prompt 2, Stuff, Team Orange, The Prat and The Idiot, Virgin!Merlin, angry, in a round about way, vague slashiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenira/pseuds/edenira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He rose with the sun, waking with a smile on his face because Arthur Pendragon was in his dream again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prat and The Idiot

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's time for prompt number two. And yes, I will be here to stretch your prompts to their limit all week! Haha~ Not quite so happy with this one as with the last one, but still loving it! This was heavily inspired by 'Brokeback Mountain' by Annie Proulx; you should all read it! See ya'll tomorrow!

                He rose with the sun, waking with a smile on his face because Arthur Pendragon was in his dream again.

                The cold air hit him as soon as he removed himself from the hard hotel bed. He took a deep breath; but not even that was enough to calm his flustered heart. He walked uncertainly towards the ensuite and stopped in front of the mirror; his reflection changing before him.

                Thinking about that prat always did make him feel so many more centuries younger than he was.

                His shoulders dropped; legs ready to give way from the intense effort such a transformation takes. But looking back up at himself in the mirror, he is glad. The past, now, does somehow not seem nearly so far away as his dream last night.

                A dream; a memory; a collection of twisted recollections turning over and over in his mind. He tries desperately to conjure up some sort of beginning to the mess.

                It was summer; that much he could remember. It was summer and they were young and reckless and irresponsible. At least, such were the excuses he would later spin in his mind.

                That day had been particularly hot, if memory served, as though the air itself had been lit on fire. And so, everyone seemed to descend into a temporary madness. The atmosphere in the great hall was almost suffocating, so potent was the concoction of alcohol, good food and loud music.

                But Merlin seemed to be the only person not taken in by the heat’s spell. In fact, the lack of inhibition made him feel quite uncomfortable. He had refused every glass he was offered for a reason. He did not feel, evidently, quite so free as those around him to lose control.

                There were things he was quietly determined to keep inside; where no one could see them. That was there they were safest.

                By midnight, he’d excused himself from the hall. No one seemed to notice anyway.

                But he did not feel like retreating to bed just yet. Instead, he climbed the narrow stairs up to the roof of the castle, desperate for some fresh air and peace enough to hear his thoughts again.

                The feeling of the wind blowing through his hair was more reviving than anything. He sighed and looked out upon Camelot.

                If he closed his eyes and blocked out the faint sounds of merry-making, it was almost possible to pretend he was the only person for miles. Perhaps in the entire world.

               Such a prospect seemed particularly attractive at that time, for Merlin had come to what seemed to be a revolutionary conclusion.

                He was attracted to Arthur.

                Merlin smirked at his reflection in the mirror. It had seemed so important back then, but it really was a very simple fact. Then again, even people in the first-and-twentieth century over-complicated it.

                Truthfully, he’d always known, on one level or another. It was as though it had always been there; tucked away at the back of his mind because it was entirely ridiculous and inconvenient in nature. It was as though his brain had just dismissed it for him; deeming it too bothersome to warrant his knowledge. But, still it was there; waiting.

                And then he finally acknowledged it; and everything started to change.

                He’d started wanting things and _thinking_ about things he hadn’t thought about before. At every possible interval, his mind would jump at the chance to fantasise about the cocky blond and his stupid smile. He had quite possibly imagined over a thousand different scenarios in which his feelings came to light and even more when Arthur seemed to share those feelings. Every casual glance held the possibility of a million confessions, but promised none. And sometimes he was so sure that Arthur felt for him as he felt for Arthur, but then something else might happen; an argument, or a girl perhaps, and he would be entirely convinced of quite the opposite.

                Eventually, he came to accept that Arthur would never do any of the things he dreamed of, even if he did feel as he hoped. And he was okay with that.

                It wasn’t like he was in _love_ with the man, anyway. There would be others, hopefully of the female variety. Maybe he’d even get married one day; have kids and a house with a garden: a place to call home. But even if he never did have that sort of stuff, at least he might have someone who loved him. _Him_ ; not anyone else.

                He just had to get away; had to get out of this insufferable place. He could never find someone like that with that prat constantly looming over him. With the promise of tomorrow forever on his mind.

                Retrospectively, Merlin knew he should have been thinking about his destiny; that it should have been his sole focus from the start. Truthfully, he had only taken it seriously in those last days. But at this time, the cause did not seem so dire. It had not seemed that an end was in sight; or even that an end might exist. How foolish he had been.

                But being around Arthur, knowing that things could never be, was like being choked. Being constantly in his presence was stifling; a slow, elongated death. Eternally breathless, he felt smothered and overwhelmed by the feeling that he needed to get _out_.

                “Merlin?”

                Part of him wasn’t surprised to hear Arthur’s voice come from behind him. For once, the man sounded unsure and even a little shaky. Merlin turned to face him.

                The blond had a half-full glass in his hand and the alcohol showed in his face. His hair was mussed and unruly; his robes uneven and stained in places with split wine and food. But his expression was that of concern.

                Merlin had been told a lot about fate; had been subjected to the choices of destiny enough times to know its presence in his life. And this, this felt like fate.

                It was time to tell him.

                “I’m leaving.” It jumped out of him; the words sprang from his lips and out into the open. But he felt no relief.

                “Huh?” At first, Arthur just seemed surprised by his manservant’s sudden outburst. “You’re what?”

                “Leaving, tomorrow.” Short, blunt. He couldn’t manage much more than that. He turned around, hands back on cold stone. He couldn’t look in his eyes; otherwise he’d never get out.

                “W-what?” Arthur’s voice sounded unnaturally shaky. “No. No, what are you talking about? Why?”

                Merlin didn’t reply, though he heard the blond start to approach; the hard heels of his boots hitting the hard granite beneath them.

                “You can’t just _leave_.” Arthur paused, waiting for a reply. “Answer me.”

                “I’m leaving, Arthur. That’s all you need to know.”

                “N-no, that not – that’s not fair, goddamn it, Merlin.” His tone became all the more angry as his impatience flared. “Tell me. _Tell me._ ”

                Merlin dug his nails into the cold stone; clutching desperately as though it could save him, trying so hard to blink the salty tears away.

                “Oh my god – talk to me already, I am your –”

                “Shut up, just _shut up_.” Merlin shouted back furiously, turning on his heels, tears flying before he could stop them. “You don’t understand I can’t, oh god, I can’t _breathe_.”

                Arthur stood open-mouthed. The sight of his manservant in such a state was more than quite upsetting and, though he had no real inkling of what had Merlin so awfully distressed, something seemed to click. His eyes flickered down to the man’s lips, and not for the first time by a long shot. Arthur was no stranger to lust; they were, by now, well-acquainted friends who visited regularly. Although, usually, those visits took the form of a female.

                And, usually, those visits did not feel quite so… _intense_. It was like tunnel vision. Fading, everything was fading into an irrelevant background which only served to highlight his servant’s loveliness. He felt his breath hitch in his throat.

                They both heard the dropping of the glass somewhere in the background, but it seemed to be of very little importance when their lips finally brushed.

                Shaky breaths and hesitant touches, they fell to the ground; relief too heavy to be withheld by their unsteady legs. Messy kisses and clothes flying; they tried desperately to catch their breath, only to fall further into breathlessness. But they didn’t stop.

                It was unbearable. The pleasure; it was agonizing. Slow and steady at first, it built up to a brilliant white light. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut; so good it almost hurt. It begged him to let go; to experience just how good Arthur could make him feel.

                And he was afraid, my god, was he afraid. Not even his most adventurous fantasy could have lived up to the real thing. And he was scared to let go, for fear this feeling would consume his whole being.

                But he was with Arthur and with Arthur he was safe.

                So he let go.

                Blinding ecstasy ripped through his slender figure.

* * *

                They didn’t talk about it. Avoided each other for days, as though looking at one another would send them into some sort of ravenous state of lust.

                Although, in the end, that seems to have been what happened.

                It didn’t take long for them to give in. Let it happen; just once a day, usually interrupting Merlin’s duties so as not to arouse suspicion.

                They still didn’t talk about it. But Merlin didn’t leave.

                It didn’t stop there though. That one night; that one goddamn night unlocked something inside Merlin. He’d felt desire before Arthur, that was to be sure, but he had never felt desire such as this. It happened anywhere and everywhere, at seemingly random intervals whenever something reminded him of Arthur, which seemed to be notably more often than before.

                It was as though he’d just tasted food for the first time and now he could no longer prevent his hunger. Now that he had tasted the fruit, he wanted it again and again and again. And once this monster within him had been unleashed, he could think of no way to lock it up again.

                And so, once a day became twice, and then thrice. A few minutes became a few hours, and then all night. Just in Arthur’s quarters became in Merlin’s too, and then anywhere at all.

                It was uncontrollable and explosive and violent at times. And it was a part of himself which Merlin came to hate.

                It took another year for such things to come out though.

               The missionaries were making clear headway with Uther, having wrangled their way into becoming those among his chief advisors. That night, at the feast, they were invited to tell stories.

                They started, predictably, with their saviour but ended on a slightly more ominous note. The destruction of two cities for their sinful acts; sodomy amongst them.

                That had shaken the pair up considerably.

                “We have to stop!” Merlin yelled as they stormed into Arthur’s quarters after the feast.

                Arthur covered his friend’s mouth roughly with his hand. “Be quiet, you idiot; people will _hear_.”

                Merlin glared at the blond as he removed his hand. “ _We have to stop._ ”

                Looking back, Merlin would realise that he had been waiting for an opportunity such as this; a chance to end this – this _relationship_. Though, even as he drank his friend’s masculine frame in before him, he could feel painful desire flutter through him; he also acknowledged that it was the same acts which drew him to love Arthur, which caused him to hate him. The feelings were so intertwined, it seemed the only way to separate them were to sever them both.

                Arthur rolled his eyes as he walked away. “Why? What’s the point; they haven’t found out so far.”

                “That doesn’t mean they won’t.” Merlin warned him. “That time in the armoury was pretty fucking close.”

                The blond frowned.

                Merlin waited; paused, hopeful for a resigned affirmative. When he didn’t get once, his patience vanished with a snort.

                “Afraid you can’t last without me?”

                Arthur scowled almost immediately. “No. I can do just fine without you.”

                “Prove it.”

                Arthur hesitated, still reluctant to agree. Deep down, perhaps, he already knew that this would end in failure.

                “Fine.” He turned away as Merlin left.

                They didn’t last long; a few weeks perhaps. A few weeks of stolen glances, awkward silences and an underlying sense of lust. They seemed both to understand that one of them would, eventually, give in. But neither desired to be that one.

                It was winter; that much he could remember. It was winter and they were older and surer and scared. There were no more excuses left in his mind.

                In the end, it was Merlin who had Arthur against the door. And it was nothing like before. It was all teeth and tongue and fire; no tender, careful fingertips. It was ripped clothes and scratching nails and sobs and screaming. It was no longer too much, but not enough; never enough.

                “Goddamn it.” Merlin muttered under his breath. “God fucking damn it, you prat.” He chanted it like a missionary’s prayer.

                “It’s all your fault; all your fucking fault.” He could barely manage the word between tears and stuttered breaths. “All your fault that I’m like this. All your fault that I need _this_.”

                “I hate you, oh god, I hate you.” He tried to put feeling behind it, but he couldn’t do it. Arthur just clutched onto him tighter; coarse fingertips pressing into his sides, as if that might keep him there.

                “I can’t breathe, _I can’t breathe._ ”

                Crumbling in each other’s arms as they came down from their high and started their long descent downwards. The descent that brought them here.

                Merlin looked back at his reflection in the mirror; though it was the same as before, he could see his age in his eyes now.

                So old. And even now he needed that son of a bitch. The dreams themselves were proof of that. Even his subconscious seemed to know how desperate he was.

                Always the same; as they had once been: young and reckless and irresponsible. Arthur: smug grin, bright blue eyes and sure expression. Holding him, tighter and tighter still. Hot breath on his neck; lips on his jaw; quivering legs.

                And then came the morning. He would wake; sometimes with a smile, sometimes with tears, sometimes with nothing at all.

                And always muttering about the prat who haunted his dreams, albeit under his breath.


End file.
